Blood and Iron
by Farky-fark and the Munky Bunch
Summary: It is the year 4E 201 and as Alduin the World-Eater begins his new reign over Skyrim, Fate ties together the tales of two soldiers from opposite sides of the Civil War, the future High Queen, an enigmatic assassin, a foreigner at the head of an army, a man returned from the grave, and the last Dragonborn of Nordic legend. Sequel to Ice and Fire. Character list changes per chapter.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hello everyone. This isn't _technically_ a real chapter, so I apologize for that. This is a 'prologue' of sorts for this story (_Blood and Iron_) which, in case you didn't know, is the sequel to my story _Ice and Fire_. In this 'chapter', I will remind you of where we left off with each of our main characters so that as I begin to post the first few chapters, you can refer back to this and know what you're about to get into. Hopefully, that will make it seem less sudden since I'll just be plopping you right back in the middle of the action. Also, as a side note, the chapter order has changed now due to the separation of certain characters that are now involved with the lives of _other_ characters. Specifically, that means that instead of the usual order (Dany, Sansa, Arya, Drogo, Sandor, Gendry), it is now going to be Dany, Arya, Gendry, Sansa, Drogo/Dar'Jahza. That being said...here are brief recaps of chapters 45 and 47-50 of _Ice and Fire_. Enjoy. I will take this down after the first set has been posted.

**Disclaimer:** Technically, this belongs to me, because _Ice and Fire _is a story of my own creation, but all of the lovely characters and the splendid setting belong to George R. R. Martin and Bethesda Softworks, respectively.

**Rating: **M for references to mature themes.

**Warning: DO NOT READ **if you haven't already read my story _Ice and Fire_. This has spoilers galore.

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**Daenerys Targaryen**: In her last chapter, Dany was delivered to Helgen along with Ralof and Ulfric Stormcloak to be executed by the Imperial Legion as part of an agreement made between General Tywin Lannister and Jarl Viserys Targaryen (who is Dany's older brother, in case you forgot). When we last saw her, her life had just been saved by the arrival of a dragon in Helgen. And now... (find out in Chapter 1)

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**Arya Stark**: In Arya's last chapter, she was turned into the Stormcloak soldier 'Arry Snow', with help from her fellow Dark Brotherhood assassin, Jaqen H'ghar. After Jaqen revealed his feelings for her, she left for Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks and get revenge against the Imperial Legion for the part they played in Vilkas' death. And now... (find out in Chapter 2)

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**Gendry Waters**: In Gendry's last chapter, he and his new friend Hot Pie, along with the rest of their regiment, left for Falkreath and captured both Daenerys Targaryen and Ulfric Stormcloak and his men by the southern border of Skyrim. And now... (find out in Chapter 3)

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**Sansa Stark**: In Sansa's last chapter, she was married to Ulfric Stormcloak against her will on the same day that her lover, Sandor Clegane was executed. Following the execution, Ulfric consummated their marriage through rape. And now... (find out in Chapter 4)

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**Dar'Jazha**: Dar'Jazha's last appearance was in Drogo's last chapter, where he was seen being arrested by the Markarth guards for his role in the uncovering of the Forsworn conspiracy. When Drogo failed to act in his defense, he was confined to Cidnha Mine. And now... (find out in Chapter 5)

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Now that you remember where we all left off, you are free to run along and enjoy the rest of the story. I will try my best to have the first set of chapters up within the next few weeks.

Thank you,

Farky-Fark and the Munky Bunch


	2. Blood of the Dragon (Dany I)

**A/N: **Welcome to the first chapter of _Blood and Iron_. The title is borrowed from a famous speech made by German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck in 1862 regarding the unification of Germany. He was my second favorite historical figure when I took European History (the first being Tsar Alexander III who tied a fork in a knot as an intimidation tactic at a dinner party) so I figured I'd give him a nod by using his famous phrase. That being said...this is the sequel to _Ice and Fire_ and it picks up right where that one ended. I hope that you're reading this right now because you were a fan of my other story, and if not, then I highly recommend you read it first. And, I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for a family wedding, so it'll be a little while before I can get back to writing. With that, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**, and reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: **M for language and violence and death.

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_"Dragon!"_

The word, and the reality of the situation seemed surreal, but as the ground shook and the executioner was knocked to the ground, something broke through Daenerys' confusion and she scrambled to her feet. Whatever else this would mean for the future, and for Skyrim, at the moment, this dragon had saved her life, and she was not going to stand around and give it the pleasure of ending it as well.

"Come on, get up! This is our chance to escape! The gods aren't likely to provide another chance like this."

It took her a moment to realize that the words being spoken were directed at her, and when she turned, the blond Stormcloak—Ralof—was waving her in his direction. Once he was sure that she had regained her bearings, he ran off and she followed as quickly as her trembling legs would allow. He reached a tall tower that was still intact before she had caught up with him and gestured again for her to follow.

"In here! This way! Come on!"

He held the door for her and as she stumbled into the tower, she saw that they were not the only ones to have taken refuge there. On the ground was a wounded Stormcloak soldier, his hand over a steadily bleeding wound in his side as a fellow rebel tore at his own tunic for use as a makeshift bandage. Beside the door they had just entered, Ulfric Stormcloak himself was quietly standing, now free from his bonds and un-gagged, though still just as stoic.

"Jarl Ulfric," Ralof seemed a bit hesitant to voice his thoughts, but continued regardless. "Are...are the legends true?"

Stormcloak took a moment to respond, and when he did, his expression was grim. "Legends don't burn down villages."

A moment of silence passed as his statement permeated the chaos of their situation, but it was soon broken by the sound of the fight outside and both men sprang to action.

"Up through the tower." Ralof grabbed her by the arm and pushed her forward. "Hurry!"

Nodding, Daenerys moved up the stone steps of the building, watching the steady movements of her feet in order to keep her mind from unraveling. A few steps ahead, a Stormcloak soldier was waiting and he yelled down to her, shaking his head.

"This way is blocked! There are stones that need to be moved out of the way!"

He turned back to try and remove the rocks that blocked their path as Ralof and Ulfric climbed up to help him, but just as they passed Dany on the stairs, a gravelly shout in some ancient tongue that she could not recognize filled the staircase with fire, killing the soldier, knocking Ralof to the ground, and destroying the staircase before them.

As the loud flapping of leathery wings announced their relative safety, Ralof moved to his feet and turned to look at Daenerys, his face now as grim as that of the man he followed.

"Jump down there, my lady. Into the inn." She turned to see that there was indeed a partially intact building just past the hole that the dragon had blasted through the wall of the tower. "We will follow as soon as we can and meet you on the other side." He remained just long enough to add, "Talos be with you," before he and Ulfric descended the stairs and disappeared into the smoke.

For a moment, Daenerys stared down at the inn before her. The jump was far, but, since she didn't see any alternative, she took a deep breath and leapt from the keep. Upon landing, her legs gave way beneath her and she fell heavily onto the charred wooden floor, a shock of pain shooting up her body as she cried out. A protective hand fell to her stomach as she landed and, ignoring the pain, she rolled over and barely managed to stand, looking around with tear-filled eyes as she struggled to continue.

Once out of the inn, she was faced with the true chaos of the village. Half of the buildings were nothing more than flaming stacks of wood, and the ones that remained intact were charred and leaning precariously. Screams of pain and terror pierced the air, some silenced by the intermittent roars of the beast that was destroying all in its path.

Just to her right, across the street, the Imperial soldier who had read the names of the prisoners was trying to coax a young boy out of the road from where he knelt by his injured father's side.

"Boy, come here! You aren't safe there."

The little boy—_Haming_, some voice at the back of her mind told her—looked up and shook his head, barely managing to speak through his sobs. "My father! He's hurt!"

The Imperial sighed and gestured toward him. "Come here and I will bring your father to safety."

The man in the road raised a hand and laid it on his son's shoulder with what little strength he had. "Go, Haming. Do as he says."

Though still visibly hesitant, he obeyed his father's command, and just as he reached the soldier on the other side, a deafening roar came from the northeast, followed by a stream of fire that put the boy's father out of his misery.

The tortured yell from Haming could be heard over the dragon's retreat and the Imperial had to drag the boy away from the pile of steaming ash that had once been his father, steering him toward a Nord man who stood helplessly beside Dany, at the entrance of the inn.

"Ser, he's your boy now."

The man nodded and took Haming into his arms as the soldier turned to look at Daenerys. "You, prisoner, follow me if you want to stay alive."

Wordlessly, she obeyed, walking across the street and stepping past the man's remains with difficulty. Ignoring her discomfort, the Imperial cast her a side glance and then said, more to himself, "We have to find General Lannister and assist in the defense of this town."

They passed between what had once been the tailor's shop that Dany had visited and a ruined stone wall, and a strong arm kept her from moving forward as the Imperial drew his sword. "Stay here. I do not know what danger lies beyond this point."

As if in response to his words, a huge dark shape blocked out the sky above them and the road they had been running toward was engulfed in flame. The soldier at her side flinched back from the heat, but she remained standing. She realized with sudden surprise that she couldn't even feel it.

Adjusting their path, they ran into a dilapidated shop and jogged through it, eyes on the sky, searching for any sign of the creature who sought to end their lives. Just past the doorway, they entered an open field, where a group of Imperial archers and mages were attacking the dragon on the command of General Lannister. In response, the beast was perched above them at the top of the tower that Dany had fled from, sending bursts of flame down upon the men below.

Her escort stepped toward his commanding officer, but Lannister waved him back, shaking his head. "Hadvar, into the keep." Turning to his other soldiers, he yelled the rather unnecessary command to retreat and they broke formation to flee from the rising flames.

Dany followed Hadvar as he rushed toward the keep, but at the door, they were met by Ralof, who drew his sword at the sight of the Imperial soldier. Hadvar did likewise, and the two men eyed each other warily for a moment before realizing that there were more important things at stake than the outcome of Skyrim's civil war. Each ran off in a different direction, and Dany remained unmoving, unsure as to which "follow me!" she should obey.

Her brother's betrayal and her near death at the hands of the Imperial Legion too recent to be forgotten, she followed Ralof, running through the doorway of the keep and into a large circular room where they were greeted by the mangled body of a Stormcloak soldier.

Ralof swore under his breath and then muttered a prayer to Talos over the body of his friend before turning his gaze to Daenerys. "Take his armor, my lady. It will provide protection that you will likely need in the coming fight."

Nodding, she fell to her knees beside the fallen soldier and tugged at the straps of his armor until it was free from his body. Ralof pulled fruitlessly at the handle of the door to their left as she struggled into the over-sized armor before declaring it locked and moving to the next.

"Gods damn it!" He yelled in frustration, pounding a fist against their only other hope of escape. "Barred from the other side." He moved back, presumably in order to slam on the door with the full force of his weight, but before he could try, it opened and they were greeted by two Imperial soldiers, one of whom was wearing a captain's armor, though it wasn't the same man who had presided over the executions.

Through the blurry haze that covered her eyes, Dany watched Ralof's sword as it slipped expertly between the plates of steel armor and came back covered in blood that dripped wetly onto the already bloodstained ground. The other soldier was killed before his captain's body even hit the earth.

"Take this." He tossed her a key from the corpse of the Imperial captain as he searched the other body and she moved silently to the door, opening it and following her companion through once he was done looting his fallen foes.

The rest of their journey passed by in a blur, a flurry of swords, of steel; of fire; of blood; of death. Countless Imperials fell before them as they ran through the keep, seeking refuge in a cavern that lent them relative safety until they once again reached the surface.

Ralof was at her side for but a brief moment before his sword was drawn again and he turned to her, his eyes filled with determination and steely resolve. "I cannot leave this city without Lord Stormcloak, but you, run for safety. Riverwood is but an hour's ride from here—go to the mill and tell Gerdur that Ralof sent you."

As the sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, Dany turned her gaze to the sky where a dark shape, terrifying in all its destructive glory, flapped its wings and flew into the distance, ready to bring death upon all of Nirn.

Still in pain from her fall at the inn, but finally clear-headed enough beneath the bright light of the sun, Dany limped away toward Riverwood, a town that seemed but a memory. So much had happened since she had been there last.

At the thought of the caravan, she remembered her husband, miles away when she needed him most, their child, now destined to be born into a dying world, and her brother, willing to betray her for the crown he had always desired. Her eyes grew wet with tears, but she forced herself onward, determined to find the strength in herself that Viserys had never had.

_He was not a true Targaryen; _I _am. __I am the blood of the dragon._


	3. Sons and Daughters of Skyrim (Arya I)

**A/N: **So...I'm really sorry about how long it's been. I'm not usually one to make excuses, but everything possible that could have kept me from writing on a regular basis happened between now and when I posted the first chapter. But, circumstances are currently slightly in my favor, so I'll be working on the rest of the first 'set' over the next few weeks. That being said, there are a few notes for this chapter. First off, this is where I explain the weird narration that I mentioned at the end of _Ice and Fire_. Since Arya has now turned herself into Arry Snow, who is, as far as everyone else knows, a man, there are times, usually when she is being addressed by someone other than herself, that she may be referred to with male pronouns (his, him, he, etc.). However, I don't think it's too confusing to follow, so, you should be fine with that. Just giving a heads up. Also, for people who don't know Skyrim, Unblooded is the lowest rank in the Stormcloak army and Ice-Veins is one rank above that, and, the Throat of the World is a mountain. A very tall mountain. Anyway, enjoy reading, and again, I apologize for the wait. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: **M for language and some sensuality.

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"I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim. As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond, even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

And so it was with these words that Arry Snow became the newest addition to Stormcloak's army. He spoke the oath, donned the armor, and then, while sparring in the training yard one day with a fellow soldier, was called upon to test his mettle.

"Snow!"

It took a moment for Arya to remember that she was the soldier in mention now and she hastily moved to stand at attention as Robb approached. It wasn't any easier now than it was when she had first arrived in Windhelm to stand before her brother and pretend that she was someone else. She longed to run to him and throw her arms around him as she had done back in Winterhold when life was simpler, but instead she stood stiffly and stared above his head so that she wouldn't have to meet his gaze and risk giving herself away.

"Yes, Stormblade?"

"I have a job for you, Snow," Robb began, his bright blue eyes roaming over her carefully schooled features and then giving a look of dismissal to her sparring partner. When he was gone, Robb continued. "This is your chance to prove yourself to Jarl Stormcloak, so I hope that you perform your best."

"Of course, ser." The fact that her scrawny figure—by male Nord standards—made all of her fellow Stormcloaks see her as inferior was beginning to irk her, considering that she could easily beat any of them in a fight, so the chance to prove herself was one that she would eagerly accept.

"Just between the two of us, I have a bad feeling about Ulfric's trip to Falkreath, and if it had been successful, we would have heard word already, so I'm sending you with the squadron of men who are to assist in the capture of Falkreath if assistance is indeed needed."

Arya nodded and with that, Robb was gone again, no doubt burying himself in the maps that were spread across the tables in the back room of the Palace of Kings as he seemed to so often do. It took only a moment before she was approached by a fellow Unblooded soldier of the Stormcloak army.

"So, the Stormblade's willing to talk to the likes of you? There could only be one reason for that. You coming with us to Falkreath then?"

She looked over at the blond Breton and nodded when she realized that his comment had been made in jest. "Apparently so. When do we leave?"

"An hour hence," he replied with a frown. "I guess we don't deserve any more advanced notice than we got." He extended a hand to introduce himself. "Lommy Greenhands." As she shook his hand she noticed that his surname was accurate to his appearance and he explained himself without prompting. "I joined the Stormcloaks less than a moon ago, and I was a dyer's apprentice before that. The dye hasn't all washed off yet."

Arya nodded politely in response. "Arry Snow. Bastard from Winterhold."

"Bastard? Well, don't let anyone give you grief for that. Half of the men here are bastards from one place or another, and not even all from Skyrim. Jarl Stormcloak and Lord Stark are the only ones who are anything special."

_Lord Stark...No, Lord Stark was my father. Robb is just...Robb. _When she didn't respond, lost in her own memories, Lommy shuffled his feet in obvious discomfort. "Well, I'll let you go get ready then. See you back here when it's time to go." He waved his farewell and then walked off, leaving Arya alone in the training yard.

After a moment, she began walking toward the Palace of Kings and when she entered the main hall, she made her way toward the Stormcloaks' main tactics room. Robb didn't so much as glance up when she entered, so she kept her gaze turned to the floor and hurried toward the door to the upper level of the Palace. In an unbelievable stroke of luck, she had arrived just as the barracks were being expanded for the quickly growing Stormcloak army and as such had been given an individual room for the time being in the wing that was usually reserved for the city's nobles, and of course, that housed the Jarl's quarters. Keeping her true identity a secret would have been a far harder task had she been forced to share the barracks with her fellow soldiers, so this small form of assistance was a godsend.

Climbing the first flight of stairs, she turned toward the alcove that housed her room, but hesitated at the bottom of the steps that led to Ulfric's private chambers. Though muffled by the heavy oak door that kept the room out of view, the sound of quiet sobbing could be heard, still as heartbroken as the night that it had first begun. Although she had arrived after the wedding, it hadn't taken long for her to hear about what her older sister had endured at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak and even though she and Sansa had never been close, it was hard for her to leave her alone in her time of grief. After all, Arya knew what it felt like to lose the man she loved.

Dragging herself away, she continued down the short hall and into the room she had been given. Closing the door, she removed her Stormcloak armor and set it aside as she stripped the rest of the way and sat down on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh. Though she had never been one to walk around naked as Sansa had always been when they were growing up, she had finally reached the age where her breasts were just large enough to be unbelievably sore after having been bound with linen each day, so her time without the need for clothing had become infinitely more appealing.

Stretching her arms high over her head, she gave a small sigh of pleasure that faded as she caught sight of her reflection in the looking glass on the wall opposite her bed. Getting up, she padded over to it on bare feet and stood for a moment staring at the stranger that met her gaze. Arry Snow was an unusually small man for his age and race, given the typical brawn of Skyrim's native inhabitants, with short dark brown hair, a long solemn face (the very same face that had earned her the nickname of Arya Horseface as a young girl), and a dark haze of stubble that remained perpetually over his jaw, effectively hiding of the growing femininity of 'his' features. Only when he bathed after a long day in the training yard did Arya return, and only then until she woke up the next morning and picked up the lump of charcoal on the table beside her bed. Never having been overly fond of her gangly form and unimpressive features, Arya hadn't thought that she would someday miss seeing herself when she looked into the mirror, broken and scarred as she was.

Exhaling heavily, she turned away and gathered a few things from her pile of belongings before re-donning her armor and returning to the training yard. A few of her fellow soldiers had already gathered there when she reached their designated meeting place, and she quietly slipped into the group beside Lommy, though her efforts to go undetected were met with failure.

"You the one we were waiting on?" The man who spoke—seemingly the one in charge by the way he stood apart from the other soldiers—was a heavyset Nord with a large flat nose that only served to further the general unattractiveness of his overly fleshy features. When she nodded, he snorted in obvious displeasure. "Why in Oblivion did the Stormblade send a scrawny runt like you with us? Mayhap to get you killed, eh?" He laughed loudly and while he distracted by his own mirth, Lommy leaned over to whisper in Arry's ear.

"That's Rorge. He's the biggest arse I've ever met, and believe me, I've had the pleasure of meeting a good many over the years."

Arya snorted in amusement.

"As I'm sure you know," Rorge continued, "We're being sent on a very important mission, so discretion, and success, are key. If any of your fellow soldiers ask, this is nothing more than a routine scouting mission, understood?"

He seemed pleased by the resounding chorus of "yes, ser!"s, and at his command, they marched from the training yard and out past the city gates into the fluffy drifts of snow that were beginning to collect along the sides of the well-traveled road.

Under Rorge's command, their trek seemed long and slow, though in truth, they made good time across the snowy landscape, avoiding the travelers that would have been met along the path to Helgen for the sake of speed and, as their commander oft repeated, 'discretion'.

They passed Kynesgrove early in their journey, and by the time Masser and Secunda had found their places among the stars, the small band of Stormcloak soldiers had made it almost three-quarters of the way to Whiterun. Pleased with their progress, and unwilling to continue moving farther past sundown for fear of an Imperial ambush, Rorge stopped them in a small clearing at the base of the Throat of the World and they set about making camp. Once a fire was started and the wineskins were removed and passed around between the men, the hush of the past few hours faded and tongues began to loosen.

"I'd give anything for a woman right about now," the man beside Arya said in a whine after taking a swig of alto wine. "It's too damn cold up north—wouldn't mind the heat to be found between a woman's thighs."

Arya's heart leapt to her throat as he turned to look at her, and it took her a minute to realize that he was merely seeking confirmation and hadn't deduced that what he was looking for was lying no more than an arm's length away. Taking a long pull from the wineskin she had been passed to calm her nerves, she nodded and offered him a noncommittal grunt.

His comment was met with a brief moment of contemplative silence before another soldier—whom Arya had heard Rorge refer to as Hjornskar—grinned and added his two septims. "The last lass I had was a tavern wench. She was a little thing, but feisty. It took me a good minute to get hold of her. Slippery as a horker, that one was. But boy was she worth it..." The wide smile that crossed his face at the memory was met with a few chuckles and Arya barely suppressed a weary sigh. She would never understand the propensity that men had for sharing the tales of their escapades in the filthy back-rooms of seedy taverns.

As the men continued sharing bawdy stories around the fire, Arya quietly slipped away from the group and settled down against a log that barely remained within the light cast by the crackling flames. Once she was sure that no attention was being paid to her, she pulled a well-worn piece of parchment from her knapsack and absently ran her thumb across the charcoal drawing that covered its surface.

Though she had never been one for the lessons in how to be a proper lady that she and Sansa had been forced to endure at the hands of Septa Mordane when they were young, she had taken a liking to the art of simple sketching as she had grown older and the past few weeks had found her carefully recreating a familiar set of features on the worn sheet of paper.

It had started with the eyes that still haunted her dreams, and the large crooked nose and playful grin had followed soon after. However, she had noticed recently that unintentionally, the ears of her former lover had a slight point to their slender tips, and the strong, stubborn jaw had transformed into the sharp chin and high cheekbones that so often welcomed a gracefully enigmatic smirk.

Sighing, she smudged out one of the ears that poked out from the strands of long dark hair before deliberately rounding it and thickening the war paint that masked his ghostly eyes. It seemed as though with each passing day, his features faded further in her mind and that realization was one that she loathed, nay, _feared_ to face.

After studying the drawing for another long moment, she turned to put the parchment away, but the snapping of a nearby twig sent her hand flying to the blade at her hip and Rorge slowly rose to his feet, sword in hand.

"Who's there? Show yourself."

The voice that answered was deep and seemed to carry with it a natural air of command. "Is that the way you speak to your lord, Ice-Veins?" The man stepped into the light of the fire and the regiment before him swiftly assumed the appropriate position of respect.

He regarded their subservience with obvious satisfaction then looked over toward Arya, who was still crouched over her belongings. His eyes narrowed at her obvious, if unintentional, lack of respect and he straightened up to answer the question that had been asked of him.

"It is I. Ulfric Stormcloak. The lord of Windhelm, and the future High King of Skyrim." He hesitated for a moment and then added gravely, "And I bring troubling news from Helgen..."


	4. Long Live the Empire (Gendry I)

**A/N: **Here's chapter three, and there a few notes. First, a score is twenty, if you didn't know that. Then, in regard to Skyrim, Praefect is the third highest rank in the Imperial Army (after Auxiliary and Quaestor), and Skingrad is a city in Cyrodiil, which is where Imperials are from. And, I think that's it. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Except for Lanius. He is my own creation.

**Rating: **M for language.

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Fire. Everywhere he looked, all that Gendry Waters could see was fire. Helgen had been completely and utterly destroyed.

After the initial shock of the—dare he even admit it in thought?—dragon's appearance, the soldiers of the Imperial Legion had moved to action: firing arrows, casting spells, and over all, not making a damn bit of a difference. Though the carnage had lasted for only a few minutes, they had lost many men to the dragon and the Stormcloak rebels alike before the beast had flown away, soaring up above the clouds and disappearing into the distance.

"Waters! Waters..."

Gendry turned away from the sky at the sound of his captain's voice and it took a moment for him to find Lanius a few feet away, trapped beneath a large chunk of stone that had fallen from the tower in the center of the town.

"Help me, Waters."

The irony of the situation was not lost on the young soldier and he spent a minute meeting the desperate and fearful gaze of his cruel commander before silently retreating a few steps and yelling toward where he had last seen a fellow legionary.

"Help! We need help!"

Gendry moved to lift the rock that was pinning Lanius to the ground and his call was answered momentarily when Hot Pie and another soldier that Gendry didn't know appeared from the heavy cloud of ash and joined him in his efforts. Between the three of them, they were able to lift the stone from atop Lanius' prone form, and the Imperial whimpered in pain once he was free.

He spent a moment struggling to get up as the third soldier left them to go assist in the cleanup of the rest of the city and after a few minutes, he collapsed back to the ground with an expression of sheer terror across his face.

"Waters..." he said in a barely audible whisper before raising his voice in hysteria. "I can't feel my legs. Oh gods, I can't feel my legs!" He broke into loud and helpless sobs and the two younger men watched him for a moment before Gendry sighed and stepped toward him.

"Hot Pie, help me lift him. We'll put him in one of the prisoners' carts until a healer can get to him."

The Nord nodded and they lifted their commanding officer, carrying him carefully to safety as he cried and swore and raged at them for furthering his weakness. Once deposited in the back of one of the wooden horse carts, he stopped his tirade and merely lie limply, staring up at the clear blue sky with a vacant expression.

Sighing again, Gendry turned away from the pitiful sight of his captain and managed to smile at the friend that stood next to him. "Glad to see you alive."

Hot Pie smiled weakly back and gave a nervous laugh. "Me too. All I could do was find a place to hide and stay there until that…thing…decided to leave." He hesitated for a moment then added a bit warily, "Was it truly a...a..."

"Dragon?" Gendry finished drily. "Yes. At least, it certainly looked like the pictures of dragons I've seen in books."

Hot Pie shook his head in disbelief and exhaled heavily. "Did you see what it did to Jarl Targaryen? One second he was standing there and then the next, just," he snapped his fingers and then fluttered them away absently in an imitation of blowing ashes. "Gone."

At the mention of Viserys' fate, Gendry frowned. "What happened to the prisoners? Where are Ulfric and his men? And Lady Daenerys?"

Hot Pie furrowed his brows then shrugged. "I don't know. I saw the lady running off with Ulfric's commander. Not Robb, but...oh..." He frowned. "Gods, what's his name?"

Gendry shrugged. The Silver Hand had never cared to learn the chain of command in the Stormcloak army. The enemies they faced had no leaders.

"Well, nevermind then. They disappeared into the keep, and I haven't seen them since. As for Ulfric and the other rebels, only the gods know. Probably on their way back to Windhelm as we speak." Gendry swore and his friend gave a gesture of indifference. "I really don't see why it matters anymore. With a dragon loose in Skyrim, I don't see why we should give the Stormcloaks another thought. We all have more dangerous things to contend with now."

Gendry nodded and was about to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of raised voices nearby.

"The end of this gods damned war was in our hands, and you let him just _walk away?!_"

"There were more pressing matters at hand, General. In case you didn't notice, this town was just destroyed by a _dragon_!"

There was a brief pause and then, "And how is that any concern of mine? I came here to see Ulfric Stormcloak executed, and now he's escaped. _That_ is what concerns me."

"How is that any concern of yours?" the woman that General Lannister was arguing with—Legate Rikke, Gendry assumed—gave a harsh laugh of disbelief. "Gods, Tywin, we lost half of our men. I haven't even seen any of Lanius' regiment yet—" Her voice cracked with emotion and there was a moment of silence before General Lannister spoke again, as calm as before.

"Then I suggest you search for them. And if you find any survivors, tell them that we'll be returning to Solitude. There's nothing more for us here. It's time to move on."

* * *

In the end, only two of the four score men that had entered Helgen returned to the capital city, and among them, over half were wounded in some way that required healing. The journey back was long and slow, and by the time they reached the gates of Solitude a week later, more men had been lost to infection and the wolves that prowled around the campfires at night.

It was with great relief that the soldiers made their way to either the infirmary or the barracks upon their return, and Gendry collapsed on the edge of his bed when he reached the long room that the soldiers under Lanius' command had been appointed to.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to end up back here again," he commented idly as his fellow soldiers found their way to their respective beds. A few of them nodded wearily in agreement and Hot Pie flopped down in the space that he had claimed with a dramatic sigh.

"What I wouldn't give for a nice big apple pie right about now." He said wistfully. "And a tankard of Stros M'Kai rum."

Gendry smiled and laced his fingers behind his head as he stretched out. "Mm. I think I'd like a whole cauldron full of venison stew and a bottle of Surilie Brothers Vintage 399, imported straight from Skingrad."

Hot Pie snorted and turned his head to look over at Gendry. "You imperials and your damned wines. If General Lannister and the Empire gain control of Skyrim, I hope we'll at least be allowed to keep our mead."

Gendry frowned slightly at the word 'if', and he was about to reply when the sound of hard steel boots announced the arrival of a high ranking officer and the barracks fell silent as the soldiers all scrambled to attention. A moment later, the Praefect of a different regiment appeared in the doorway and he scanned the row of legionnaires before speaking.

"Is one of you named Gendry Waters?"

All eyes found him in the center of the row and he took a step forward. "Yes, ser?"

The captain appraised him for a moment, then replied. "General Lannister wishes to see you."

Gendry nodded his understanding and once the captain had gone, Hot Pie looked over at him with a mixture of reverence and fear.

"What in Oblivion did you do?"

Gendry shrugged and sat back down on the edge of his bed for a moment longer. "Nothing I can think of." With an amused smile, he glanced up at his friend. "Did you even for a moment consider that it may not be something terrible?"

Hot Pie shrugged. "Well sure, but, I mean, it _is_ General Lannister..."

Gendry snorted. He couldn't argue with that.

Standing, he turned to his fellow soldier and placed his hands on his shoulders with mock seriousness. "Hot Pie, if I die, you get my sword." The Nord nodded solemnly and Gendry rolled his eyes in disbelief.

Leaving the barracks behind, he made his way out into the training yard, and then through the door of Castle Dour's tactical room. Inside, he found Lanius, Legate Rikke, and General Lannister all waiting for him. For a very brief moment, he wondered if Hot Pie was about to inherit a very well-crafted silver sword.

"Waters." It was Tywin Lannister who spoke. "Do you know why you're here?"

Gendry hesitated for a moment then answered truthfully. "No, ser."

Lannister nodded then glanced over at Lanius where he sat silent and motionless in the corner. "In light of recent events, and due to the account of your actions in Helgen as told to us by Captain Lanius, we have decided to promote you to the rank of Auxiliary and officially make you a soldier of the Imperial Legion. I do not believe the soldiers of the Silver Hand speak the Imperial oath when they are initiated."

Though not phrased as a question, Gendry answered as though it were. "No, ser."

General Lannister nodded at the affirmation of his assumption and continued. "Since your captain is now less than worthless on the field of battle," The look of pain that crossed Lanius' face did not go unnoticed, nor did Rikke's restless movement as she appeared to resist the urge to go to him. "Your regiment is in need of a new leader. And you will lead them." He turned to the woman at his side and she quickly regained her composure. "Legate Rikke, you may do the honors."

She dipped her head in deference and stepped forward to stand in front of Gendry. "Gendry Waters, do you swear by speaking this oath that you will remain true and faithful to the Empire from this moment until your last?"

Gendry straightened up and nodded. "Yes, ser."

"Then repeat these words after me, and may they guide you through your battles: "Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!""


	5. Scars (Sansa I)

**A/N: **No notes for this one. Anything that would need to be explained is explained in the chapter itself, I believe. So, just read and enjoy as much as you can. This one's a bit of a downer...and speaking of which, be sure to look down at the rating. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) **StarscreamII**. Reviews are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.

**Rating: M for references to rape, abuse, and self-harm.**

* * *

The room was dark, and cold. Without windows, no light was allowed inside. Without windows, she lost her only hope of escape.

By now, she no longer knew how much time had passed. Had it been mere seconds since the axe had fallen or had it been longer: hours, days, months, years? Had she already lost her famed beauty and grown wrinkled and grey in the time she had spent there, painfully alone?

Each day, someone would plead from the other side of the door for her to come out. To breathe fresh air again; to sleep; to eat; to live. After waiting long enough without reply, they always went away. Why couldn't they just understand that she didn't want to live anymore? Was it such a difficult concept to grasp? They all knew what had happened. They all knew what he had done to her.

Sansa shivered as a gust of cool air blew in from beneath the heavy oak door and she pulled the tattered rag of what had once been her wedding dress tighter around her bare shoulders as the sound of light, hesitant footsteps stopped outside the door for a moment before moving away and continuing to one of the other rooms nearby. The gown that had for its purpose hugged the voluptuous curve of its lady's young body now hung limply over her emaciated frame, torn in two by her lord husband's greedy hands and shredded to pieces by the nervous scratching of her jagged nails. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the feel of him off of her skin.

"Sansa..."

She turned toward the sound of her name and the motion sent her head spinning. She was weak from a lack of food and sleep and from having nothing to drink but the heady Alto vintage that Ulfric had left on the table beside the door. It was the same wine that he had used to get drunk before he returned to her a second time, his lust and cruelty insatiable. By then, she hadn't had any strength left to fight.

"Sansa, please..."

The voice was familiar and sounded as broken as she felt. Was it her father that she heard, beckoning from the shining halls of Sovngarde, or merely her battered mind playing tricks on her?

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she walked toward the door with tiny steps, just one foot in front of the other. If she could reach the other side, she could leave this all behind. She could be with him again. With _him_...

The key turned in the lock and she tried to open the door, but collapsed from the effort. As she cried out, a strong pair of arms wrapped around her thin waist and she looked up to see Robb staring back at her, his eyes filled with pain and guilt.

"Gods Sansa...look what you've done to yourself..." He spoke more to himself than to her, but she gave a quiet moan in reply and curled into him as he lifted her gently from the ground.

His steps were careful, but hurried, as he carried her down the stairs and shouldered his way into the Stormcloaks' tactical planning room, through the throne room, and down the steps to the lower level of the Palace where the court wizard resided.

"Help! I need help!"

His plea was answered when a heavyset young man appeared at the entrance to the downstairs laboratory. His look of confusion shifted to one of understanding at the sight before him and he hurried to Robb's side, helping him carry the limp young woman between them into the lab and onto the bed in the corner.

When she was released from their grip, Sansa curled into herself and gave a small whimper as her brother moved away from her and approached the man who was watching stoically from the corner. She didn't want to be left alone again.

"Wuunferth, she needs your help. Any longer in there and she would've died. Please...help her."

The court wizard nodded in understanding and glanced over at Sansa before lowering his head and murmuring something to Robb that Sansa wouldn't have been able to hear even if she had cared to listen.

Closing her eyes against the throbbing in her skull, Sansa pulled her knees to her chest to try and dispel the sharp pain that was radiating from her abdomen. She wished now that she had remained on the cold hard floor of Ulfric's chambers, wasting away until she slipped into the void without the pain that she knew she would have to face now.

The soft murmur of voices above her continued as she cried silently, and it wasn't long before exhaustion took over and she fell into a deep sleep. Her last conscious thought was that of wishing she would never wake.

* * *

"I think she's waking up."

"Eh? Don't just think it Samwell, make sure. A lot is riding on this girl's life."

Sansa opened her eyes in response to the conversation being held above her to find the chubby young man who had carried her to safety looking down at her in concern.

"Yes, ser. Definitely awake."

An old man in dark blue robes replaced the boy Sansa assumed was his apprentice—she seemed to recall somebody mentioning the name Samwell Tarly—and he gently pushed a goblet of water into her trembling hands.

"Drink this. Divines know you need it."

She nodded her thanks and he watched for a moment as she raised the cup to her parched lips before adding, "When you need more, just let Sam know. And sit up when you have the strength."

He turned away to return to the concoction on his alchemy table, and worked in silence as Sansa drank her fill, glass after glass until she was able to raise herself from the bedroll where she had been placed, propping herself on her elbows.

It was only as her wits began to return to her that she realized her state of undress and she blushed, trying to cover her nakedness with trembling hands. The gesture did not go unnoticed and the court wizard cast her a look of sympathy before turning to his apprentice.

"Leave us, Sam. Go send word to Lord Stark and then find that wife of yours and have her draw up some water. I have a feeling Lady Stormcloak will want a nice warm bath and the company of another woman."

_Lady Stormcloak._ The name sounded so foreign.

Nodding, the young man shuffled off hurriedly, leaving Sansa alone with the elderly sorcerer.

"Do you know who I am, girl?"

She hesitated. Robb had said something to someone that she hadn't seen when he had carried her here. A name. She tried to recall what she had heard, but there was only one name that her memory could bring to mind, so she shook her head.

"They call me Wuunferth the Unliving, but don't let that scare you. I'm the court wizard for Windhelm. Your brother had entrusted me with your care." He studied her features for a moment then continued, his voice low. "I may be sworn to our mutual lord in name, but I urge you to tell me no lies, my lady. Nothing you say will reach the ears of the Jarl." Sansa hesitated for a moment then nodded slowly as he stepped toward her.

"Do you trust me, girl?"

Again, slowly, she nodded, and then unfolded her arms from around her knees as he knelt down beside her. His weathered hands roamed carefully across her pale skin, and what he found surprised even the lady to whom the wounds belonged.

Her neck was marred with dark marks, made by the greedy kisses that had torn skin and scarred the tender flesh. Large, dark bruises made patterns over her pale skin: on her breasts, across her stomach, branded into her hips and the inside of her thighs. As for those injuries that had been self inflicted, her ribs poked from beneath pallid skin from lack of sustenance, and the beds of her nails were caked with blood from the worrying of her teeth and the tearing away of her desecrated skin.

Wuunferth exhaled slowly at the evidence of what Sansa had endured, and tears sprang to her eyes as her mind forced her to relive that night. _"You're my wife now. You do know that's an honor, don't you?"_

"My lady..." His deep voice was soft and gentle as he spoke. "I need to...examine you. To ensure that he did no permanent damage. Physically." They both knew that she would never lose the emotional scars that the experience had left her with.

Her throat grew tight with fear at the thought of another man touching her, but she let her legs fall open as a single tear escaped from her lashes. What was one more humiliation for the sake of her own life after all she had already been through?

He was careful in his examination, and when he finally moved back to his alchemy lab, he was frowning. It was that frown that scared her more than anything.

"You need to eat, girl." He returned to her side to deliver a plate of lemon cakes then retreated again with a murmured, "Robb brought these for you while you were asleep. He said they used to be your favorite."

Sansa looked at the pastries for a moment before taking one between her slender fingers and lifting it from the plate. Lemon cakes. She had always loved cakes. Though she was starved and desperately needed to eat something for fear that she might waste away, her gut clenched as she raised the cake to her lips and she had to resist the urge to retch.

"I can't."

Wuunferth cast a glance in her direction then sighed heavily and brought her a steaming mug of honeyed tea. "At least drink this then. We'll get you fed this evening before the Jarl returns."

Sansa paled. "He's returning so soon?" He had left her early that next morning for Falkreath, boasting of what he declared would be the final decisive push of the war in the Stormcloaks' favor. She had hoped he wouldn't make it back alive.

Wuunferth nodded absently. "So says your brother." He watched her for a moment in silence then met her gaze with an unreadable expression before asking bluntly, "When did you last experience your moon blood, my lady?"

She blushed. It had been just after she and Sandor had escaped from King's Landing. How long ago that had been, she couldn't say. It felt like she had lived an entire lifetime since then.

"I…don't know, my lord. There was some blood after...after..." She looked away and struggled to regain her composure before finishing in a whisper. "But it wasn't much."

"I suspected as much." He said more to himself than to her, before meeting her teary-eyed gaze. "Lady Sansa, I wish I could give you this news under far better circumstances, but..." He hesitated and then sighed again. "You're with child." More to himself he added a murmured, "Though how it managed to survive your ordeal I do not know."

Sansa's mind stopped its frenzied whirling and she blinked once before turning her gaze to her abdomen. "Oh."

Wuunferth nodded, though his expression was grim. "It hasn't yet been even a quarter of a moon since your wedding night though, my lady. You're too far along."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and she slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. "You mean..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought that he had placed in her mind. _Could it truly be...? Have the gods not abandoned me after all? _A moment of silence passed before he finished it for her.

"It isn't Ulfric's. It can't be. The babe that you're carrying was fathered by Sandor Clegane."


End file.
